


Peacock Feathers

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One time he got us to march around in a precision drill team."<br/>Eleven year old Miles has to babysit the Koudelka sisters on a rainy afternoon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peacock Feathers

Madame Koudelka was visiting Lady Vorkosigan on their weekly get-together, not letting the heavy rain stop her. The girls were too little to be left at home, so all four of them were there. They were with Miles in a second floor library. Miles was trying to teach 10 year old Delia to play Tacti-Go, but she wasn't really interested. Olivia and Martya were putting their heads together over an album of historical Barrayaran costumes and dresses: Vor, prole, all four language groups. Just now, he saw, they'd gotten to wedding dresses, by their squeals. The six year old Kareen was by herself, playing a game with a little ball and tiny caltrops.

It was raining hard in a dull way, no thunder or lightening. It was the first week of their summer vacation and it had been raining for three days.

Delia finally flounced down on the couch, saying, “I'm bored. This is a stupid game.”

Miles drummed his fingers on the floor and thought. He'd been able to sneak them up to the attics the week before, until Grand' Da had arrived and frowned everyone out. The house was big enough for hide and seek, but he didn't enjoy that anymore, after having the whole Residence for his games.

What was Gregor doing—now sixteen, in his final year of preparatory school before the Military Academy? His last letter home to Miles ironically detailed the latest news. They were set to practicing drill patterns which were corrected over and over again. The drills were on top of all their normal studies, because they were being prepared for the Emperor's Birthday parades. Nothing stopped their practice, certainly not downpours of rain, and thunderstorms only when the lightening got really close. Gregor was thinking about reviewing His troops right there.

Miles had laughed, imagining the trouble his skinny foster-brother's would get into. Gregor couldn't do that, of course. The Regent would have to be informed and definitely would not be pleased. 

Hmm. A plan began to form.

“Delia!” said Miles. “Let's play something new.”

“Like what?” she said sullenly, remembering some of Miles' other great ideas.

“Um, let's just try it, okay?”

Delia looked out the windows. Still raining hard, and it seemed like it would never stop. Miles' plan at least might be amusing.  
“ 'Kay.”

“Get everybody over here, and line up, you first.” The Koudelka sisters were all taller than him, even Kareen.

No matter. He already knew how to cope. He jumped up onto a brocaded side chair.  
“Okay. Let's learn some drills.”

Delia was still suspicious. “You mean, like why don't we learn some drills, and you be the boss?”

“Of course. That's the only way you can do it—you'll be perfect together. Push all the furniture back and line up.”

They obeyed him, more out of boredom than anything else.

“Okay, straighten yourselves out. About a foot and a half between you.” They shuffled along.

“Turn facing the wall—the other wall, Kareen.”

“Now walk towards the wall, all at the same time.”

They straggled forwards.

“This won't do—hm, I saw it last week—hold on.” He dashed out the room and was back before they could slouch.

A metronome was placed on the table beside him.

“Okay, now walk toward the wall. Start with your right foot first and listen to the ticking to know how fast.” They began to establish some degree of order. Madame Koudelka's girls were all athletic, and used to practicing martial arts with her, so they knew about placing bodies carefully in a pattern.

“Very good, very good,” he praised them. “Now, turn right, same distance apart. Knees up a little higher.” 

There was a little confusion as Kareen turned the wrong way. Delia glared at her other sisters who were laughing, as Kareen's lip trembled.

“It's okay, Kar-Kar. You can come stand by me.”

“But then it will upset the symmetry,” Miles complained, shutting up when Delia turned her fierce glare on him.

They practiced turns and wheeling, all at his direction. At some point he slipped along to another room to get a vid of military drill teams, and they began to see what he was asking of them. The music helped a lot. They took off their long Barrayaran skirts, lining up in their lacy knee length underdrawers which let the action be easier. Laughing, the girls warmed up and tried to outdo themselves, and he gave way when Delia started taking over the commands, happily watching them.

“So you come too,” called Kareen, but the others hushed her. Everyone knew that Miles' bones were very brittle.

He shook his head, but looked around the room, considering. There was a message tube on the desk. He emptied it out, holding it in his hand to get the weight. Too light. Their umbrellas were downstairs. No handy broken chair-leg presented itself. The girls were beginning to waver. At the document drawer, a cylindrical something was rolled up and wrapped, with a good heft to it. It would do.

He stood in front of them, balancing. “Okay. Here we go.” He tried to twirl the cylinder in his hands, dropped it, then pointed it out to them. “Let's march.”

Giggling, now they all trooped after him, as he marched holding his baton under his arm. his legs stretching to stay in front. He thrust and pivoted with his baton, and tried to throw and catch it while walking. This resulted in all of them falling when it sailed back over their heads. He scooped it up, then sidled back to the head of the extemporaneous parade, smirking.

They were actually getting pretty good at turns and reversing directions, and Miles was wondering how he could get some instruments so the girls could play while marching. They'd also have to get more room—out in the back garden, surely.

That's when Cordelia and Drou found them, hot, sweaty, the girls half dressed, the priceless wooden floor being scuffed up, and chairs and sofas against one wall. Miles was in full force, not trying to throw his baton in the air anymore, but sweeping it back and forth in an imitation of military fashion. At some point the lunatics had raided the tall vase of peacock feathers, and tied them to their heads for a more impressive look. Miles had even tied one on each end of his cylinder.

“Miles!' “Girls!” The calls came in, making everyone stop, and fall over, as they had been in the middle of an about-face. Cordelia was making for Miles, glaring, when she saw what he'd been tossing around.

“Miles-Naismith-Vorkosigan-you-idiot! Those are the original blueprints for Vorkosigan House! They're antiques! And you-you-WHAT are you doing with my peacock-feathers!” 

He shrugged. “Sorry, Mother. The cabinet was open.”

“Of course it's open, no one expected somebody to come tear things up! You come with me, mister, while these girls are getting dressed. And give me back all my feathers!”

It had not been so bad, thought Delia at she moved her sore bottom around in the bath that night, to be bossed around by Miles. They'd all learned important lessons, like, don't let Miles manipulate you into his shenanigans, and yes, Mother would spank you if you did. She giggled, though, at the thought that they'd all crack up whenever someone whispered “peacock feathers?”


End file.
